Life Will Change
by TheCrazyStaffers
Summary: Causmicfire and Bizzy with another installment in the Spinning Out "universe"-a series of loosely related canon-compliant fics. They've been working for years on getting Mustang to the top, but there's always been a little bit of a wager taking place on the side regarding his relationship with his adjutant...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello hello from the Crazy Staffers, Aly and Bizzy! Welcome to _Life Will Change_ , another installment in the "Spinning Out" universe. This piece has been a _very_ long time coming, with Aly and I returning to it time and time again to make tweaks over almost two years. If you thought our other fics turned into monsters, well...this one had to be broken up into chapters.

Enjoy!

Also, we don't own FMA. Alas.

* * *

 _To General Armstrong,_

Colonel Hawkeye glared at the sheet of paper in front of her, and proceeded to scratch her work out once again. She'd started over her letter twice already, stuck in an awkward place between formality and friendliness. It had been quite some time since she'd last spoken with General Armstrong, and while she considered the woman a friend there remained a modicum of respect expected between two officers-regardless of whether one was retired.

Formal invitations were due to be sent out tomorrow, and she was still fuming at the stationary that Ellen had bought her as a birthday gift ('use it to send a special someone letters', the young nurse had said, when the then-Lieutenant Colonel had been working in Ishval while a certain then-Brigadier General was back in Central).

"You can't possibly see that letter you're working on."

Hawkeye's gaze shot up from her desk, amber eyes narrowed, just in time to meet General Mustang's. He smiled amicably, well aware of the ire he was about to receive. She stopped the growl that was forming in her throat, because she knew he took twisted pleasure in his ability to get a rise out of her, even if he knew it was going to be trouble. Both of his hands were up in placating self-defense, half a smirk on his face. "Don't shoot the messenger, Colonel. I'm the one stuck with you later when you'll have a killer headache," he quips.

She doesn't bother with any attempts at a witty retort, in large part because he is right. "I forgot—"

Instead, she's effectively silenced by the pair of reading glasses that Mustang produces from an inner pocket of his uniform jacket. The smirk on his lips morphs into a smile. "Someone taught me to come prepared."


	2. Chapter 2

Olivier wasn't quite sure when the lunch had been squeezed into her schedule, but she spent so many years sticking to a strict timetable that she wasn't quite sure how to break the habit. So, there she sat in one of the finest restaurants in Aerugo waiting to meet up with the one nurse who could even inspire her to stay in a hospital bed when there was work to be done.

While she waited, she enjoyed the view her name had afforded her. From here she could look over the bustling port out to the military docks where the country would be launching the first of their new exploration fleet. A florist had informed her that somehow the crew list included the name Elric.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard footsteps approaching. Moments later the waiter was pulling out a chair for her guest. She didn't bother to stand, she knew the woman would tell her they are both too old for those kind of formalities, and she really didn't feel like being called old.

"General Armstrong, well I'll be—if I didn't know better, I'd say you haven't aged a bit."

Olivier's eyes narrowed as she weighed the statement. It could be genuine truth, or it could be the woman was trying to butter her up. When had Shirley started using flattery?

"Armstrongs are known for aging gracefully, thank you. You look like…" Olivier paused, hesitating. Shirley? Well, Shirley looked a bit like a woman who had spent much of her life running after a particularly stubborn patient. "...retirement is suiting you well."

"Nice save there, General." Shirley had been enjoying retirement. She had worked hard. Far too hard in some people's opinion, but she felt it meant she had earned some sort of peace in her old age. She was lucky enough to be retiring under a peaceful enough leadership. The country certainly still had issues, but they were no longer trying to exterminate people left and right. It had made the decision to actually retire much easier. With the money she had saved (because who goes on vacation with that going on?), she was now able to enjoy leisurely trips after passing very important information about that stubborn patient that she'd chased after to an equally hardheaded nursing student.

"General Armstrong, ma'am?" The voice broke Olivier from her train of thought about Shirley's peculiar talents for patient care, and she turned in time to be handed a heavy parchment letter by a worker from her estate. It was marked as time sensitive and postmarked from Central City. She recognized the handwriting instantly, and by the quiet hum of excitement across the table, she assumed that the nurse did as well.

"Well go on then," Shirley urged. "I don't imagine you get much correspondence from that cadet of yours now. It's probably important."

She gave the letter a glare for interrupting her lunch. Somehow she knew this timing couldn't be coincidence, and Shirley wasn't going to spoil the news for her. Part of her knew exactly what it was, and she'd never have been able to retire if Mustang was truly as bad as she made him out to be. Besides, she had been backing his campaign, even if she did route the money through her brother.

 _Dear General Armstrong,_

 _It is with great honor and pride that I personally invite you to the inauguration of Roy Mustang to the position of Führer. While I know you two have not always seen eye to eye, you more than most know how important this goal has become to both the General and myself. Your support has been an incredible influence throughout my career._

 _As such, while I am assisting in sending formal invitations to all appropriate officers, I felt it only appropriate to take the time and write you personally. I know Aerugo is not close and that traveling such a distance is not easy, but your presence would mean very much to me. And while he may rather drop dead than admit it himself, I do believe a certain General would appreciate your presence, as well. Enclosed is the formal invitation._

 _Regardless of your decision, words can't thank you enough for your assistance throughout the years._

 _Your ever-grateful cadet,_

 _Riza Hawkeye_

Olivier stared at the neatly penned note, jaw slightly slack, before rolling her eyes. "Hawkeye has been spending too much time around Alex Louis."

Reaching one hand across the table, Shirley took the letter offered to her. She gave it a cursory read Führer, her neutral expression becoming a wide grin. "Oh. It's about damn time. Maybe he'll finally propose. Führer Grumman did rewrite those fraternization laws, didn't he?"

The light glass of wine that the waiter had poured for her earlier could not possibly have gone to her head already. It's been some time since Olivier had much to drink of the alcoholic sort, but certainly she must have misheard the nurse sitting across the table from her. Choking, she set the glass back on the table, settling for a few sips of water. Few people were quite so direct in their accusations about the Führer elect and his ever-present shadow, but then again, she knew there had to be a reason why she'd liked the nurse. Olivier takes a moment to collect herself, and then finds a mischievous smirk cross her lips. What would the men at Briggs do when presented with such an offer?

"Want to bet on it?"


	3. Chapter 3

The journey from Aerugo back to Central wasn't necessarily difficult but it was plenty tedious to make up for that. She briefly wondered if the youngest of the Elric brothers would call off his journey along the Aerugian vessel to be present, or if just knowing about it was enough.

She needn't have wondered long. While her cabin on the train was private, she had neglected to close the curtain on the small window to the room, and found a polite knock disturbing her from the reading of the Central Times. "You may enter," she snapped, though Armstrong warily found her hand trailing for the sword she still kept perpetually at her hip despite the lack of uniform.

"General Armstrong! I didn't know you were in Aerugo."

Spending years at the Gate evidently keeps you young. Alphonse Elric didn't look a day over twenty, despite having shot up like a weed and standing a head taller than his older brother now. He was poking his head into the cabin, holding a large suitcase with a coat folded over his arm, and smiled widely. "I don't think I've seen you since that surprise party the Major threw for your retirement." His smile faltered, and he laughed nervously. "Not...that you were very excited about it, of course."

She shook her head. "I grew up sparring with my brother. He should know better than to try and pull one over on me. I could have killed someone."

"No killing allowed!" A female voice piped from behind the taller Elric, high pitched, "he really meant well you know. And he was so excited!" Mei Chang—or rather, Mei Elric, as she now introduced herself, appeared behind Alphonse, dark eyes narrowed in defense.

"My brother has never been able to get one over on me, this time he must have paid my informants off. Surprising people with military training is a bad idea, that was all I meant. I take it you two also received invitations?"

"Colonel Hawkeye wrote us, yes. I'm glad it got to Aeurgo when it did," Al replied quickly, sensing the mounting tension, his free hand carefully resting on Mei's wrist. Her tendency to take things literally frequently got her into trouble. "We were set to leave yesterday."

"It's funny. General Mustang wrote a letter to me, but I've only spoken to him once or twice," Mei mumbled.

Olivier nodded. It made sense after what had happened that day. She hadn't been present for it, but apparently the young woman was the reason why Mustang still had his shadow. Hawkeye's continuing silence regarding Mei's involvement spoke to the fact that the sniper had no idea that the Xingese girl had saved her life beneath Central on the Promised Day. The fact that Mustang chose not to fill his closest confidante in only spoke to how in debt and how thankful he felt to Mei-so much so that it was a burden he could not share.

"He hates paperwork, so there must be a reason why he would specifically write to you. Maybe he wants to make sure his friends from other countries are aware of how helpful they have been to make Amestris into a better country over these past few years," Olivier paused, shrugging when Mei didn't seem to pick up on the hint, "after all, he'd have been stuck after the Promised Day without your help."

"Or, perhaps he was leading up to asking for a special Xingese jewel to put into a special ring," Shirley chimed in, as the smallest train in the world seemed to get a bit smaller. How had everyone shown up in her cabin, again?

Was this going to be her new role in retired life? General Olivier Armstrong, designated finder of coincidental meeting places and starter of potentially inappropriate wagers? None of this was Armstrong tradition, but speaking of those wagers…

"Since you've gone up and brought up that special ring, Shirley, it's only fair we share our little wager. It'll make it more fun," Armstrong smirked mischievously. "You were betting on a proposal right after the ceremony, correct?"

"You are not betting on whether or not the Führer elect is going to propose to—" Mei started.

"You're damn right we are," Shirley quipped. "Ask your hubby there to tell you all about it. Look at how red he is. He knows how it's been, he's known those two long enough."

Al ran his fingers through his hair, feeling heat spreading to his ears. "Ah—well, they've just known each other a very long time. I don't really think this is appropriate conversation. Besides, I ought to see if our cabin is ready. I'll go see to that. We'll catch up more in Central, Major General. Take care!" In a flash, the younger Elric was gone from the room, so quickly he left his wife behind, before Olivier could even correct the title he called her by.

"Well, there's at least two people we can count out of the fun," Shirley pouted.

Mei was still standing hesitantly in the cabin, looking between Olivier and Shirley, before the smallest hint of a wry smile crossed her features. "I never said I wouldn't, you know."


	4. Chapter 4

"If you don't get your shit together, Jean, we're going to miss our train. And if we miss our train, I swear—"

"I promise I will not make you late. I am nothing like my best man, and we will not show up at the Inauguration a few hours before it happens," Jean Havoc sighed, slamming the suitcase shut. "Besides, if you think we're going to see Hawkeye or Mustang before the ceremony, you've got another thing coming. Mustang's guard is probably three-men deep...plus a cranky sniper who's probably spent the last month or so re-training those men how to do their job to her standards."

"Riza said she'd meet me for dinner," Rebecca quipped. "She promised. Unless something wasn't going according to plan."

"If we don't get out the door, Breda is going to take his car and leave us here, which is definitely not according to plan, Rebecca."

"If Breda knows what's good for him, he's not going to leave for the station without us," the brunette snapped. "That friend of yours will wait," she snarled.

Jean nearly swallowed the cigarette hanging out of his mouth at the look that went along with the statement. It was in moments like this that he wondered which of the two sharpshooters was born with that _particular_ threatening expression, and which learned it from the other. "I'll go make sure he waits," he reassured her, though he was mostly taking the easiest escape route from his irritated wife. He grabbed the bags she had ready along with his own and made his way out to the car where he would only be digging himself a shallow grave with a friend rather than a solid six-foot one by his front door. If he wondered how it was that he was being yelled at for being late when he made it out the door first, Havoc decided not to dwell on the thought for long.

There, Breda was standing with his arms crossed and leaning against the car, staring blankly at the passing clouds. He yawned, "I think Fuery is the one who bet that Mustang would finally propose after making it to Führer."

While it was not an uncommon conversation topic, it had been quite some time since the team had spent time making wagers on their superior officer's relationship status and as such Havoc had long since lost track. "No way," he blew a puff of smoke in the portly redhead's general direction, primarily to irritate him, as he opened the trunk and started placing bags inside. "Fuery spends about eighty percent of his time being too chickenshit to actually bet. And when he did finally bet, he was all for after my wedding."

"No. Falman was betting that it would be after your wedding," Breda huffed, waving smoke from his face, reaching into his pocket with a wry smile, producing a small black notebook. "The most recent lots were taken at your reception. You were betting when the Ishval reconstruction campaign was completed-which, by the way, was wrong." Flipping a page and clearing his throat, Breda continued. "Falman was betting that he'd propose when he was promoted to General, also wrong. I was betting on a proposal that wasn't linked to any major event, which still could be right. And Fuery is the one who is betting on him proposing after—"

"You are _not_."

Havoc stiffened. There were three people who knew nothing about the wager regarding Mustang and Hawkeye's relationship—or lack thereof. Of course, it was Roy Mustang and his ever-present adjutant, Riza Hawkeye. The third was, unfortunately, his wife—Rebecca Catalina-Havoc. And she was standing right behind him.

"Are you betting on whether or not that _jackass_ is going to propose to Riza?!" Rebecca bristled,

"Look, even Grumman approved of the bet," Breda informed her in an attempt to calm her down. All it resulted in was the same exact look Jean had fled from just moments ago.

"Oh, that perverted old man approves, so it's okay?" she huffed. "Yes, let's just bet on my best friend marrying her superior officer, who's almost gotten her killed more times than I can count. That's a fabulous discussion to have when we're supposed to be on the way to that idiot's inaugural—"

"Oh, shit. If we don't get going, we're going to miss the train," Havoc blurted, not even looking at his watch. He carefully grabbed his wife's shoulder and guided her into the car. "Come on, come on—I promised I was nothing like my best man, let's have me keep my word, okay?"

Rebecca allowed herself to be guided into the car, the slightest hint of a smile on her face. "All right, honey—let's go."

"We'll be off as soon as I get these bags in the back, sweetheart," he replied, the endearment dripping with as much sugary sarcasm as hers was.

"And this is why I'm glad those two were never married while we worked together," Breda mumbled. "This kind of stuff is disgusting."


	5. Chapter 5

"Mom, I've got the bags. You shouldn't do so much lifting."

Winry huffed, hoisting the first bag from the luggage compartment from the train regardless of her son's complaint, rolling her eyes. "Yuriy, I have been lifting people since before you were a spark in your father's eye. I think I can handle a suitcase." Placing the oversized bag on the ground by her feet, she glanced back at the compartment they'd exited from, raising an eyebrow. "Speaking of, where is your father?"

"He ran into some old guy—"

"Yuriy!"

"What? He did!"

"Oh ho, don't worry. He's got this old coot pegged for what he is."

"Momma," a small hand tugged on Winry's dress, and she glanced down to meet Nina's wide blue eyes staring up at her, one thumb in her mouth. Nina skittered behind her mother, shyly watching the stranger talking with her father.

"Winry, have you met Führer Grumman? I mean, I know you _know_ him—"

Instead of reacting to her husband's polite transition into an introduction, the mechanic reached for his collar and dragged him towards her, her face centimeters from his, irate. "Did you just let Nina wander down the platform by herself?!"

"No, no—I promise! I—she was right—I was right behind her!" Edward Elric held both hands up in self defense, though he very quickly abandoned such actions to hold on to the collar of his shirt and prevent himself from an early death by strangulation. "She just—she was shy, she doesn't know Grumman so of course she isn't gonna want to—"

Grumman snickered at the bickering couple, shifting his attention to the curious young man who was watching him. Yuriy couldn't be more than ten or so, arms crossed, golden eyes curious and contemplative. "I've seen your photograph before," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm sure you have, young man. I worked for the government for a very, very long time," Grumman replied.

"No. I saw it in mom and dad's photo book," Yuriy corrected. "You were next to Aunt Riza and Uncle Roy. We don't see them a lot. They were wearing their work clothes, and so were you."

"Very perceptive of you," Grumman chirped brightly. "Your Uncle Roy is going to be promoted to the job I used to have. Führer. It's an elected position, and it's a very important job. One of the most important ones in the country. He's been working almost his entire life to get to this job, and it's proper for those who have served as the Führer in the past to attend the Inauguration ceremony out of respect."

"Dad asked mom if that 'jackass was just going to put a ring on it' tomorrow after the ceremony," Yuriy parroted cheerfully. He evidently had no idea what he was saying.

The argument between the married couple had died down just enough for them to hear their oldest child's comments, and Winry turned an entirely new kind of irate. Appropriately fearful for his life, Ed scooped up his youngest, tucking Nina into the crook of his arm. He cleared his throat loudly, his daughter a shield between himself and his wife, and turned towards Grumman. "Ahaha—right, yeah. So, uh— Führer Grumman. What...are you planning on doing in Central?"

"Don't be so formal—call me Thomas," Grumman replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I have some business to attend to after the Inauguration. Political legwork, throwing my support behind the new Führer, that sort of thing. I'm hoping to catch the Colonel before she gets too busy with preparations, but rumor has it she's the head of the security detail and is already bogged down with work."

A squeal of excitement interrupted the conversation as a teenager joined the group. "They're getting too big, Sis," Elysia announced as she ruffled Yuriy's hair. For his part, Yuriy immediately huffed and tried to fix it.

"I should have expected to see you two here," Grumman greeted Gracia, who had already managed to take Ed's shield from him. She gave Nina a tight squeeze before looking up at Grumman with a smile. "Of course. Maes would be rolling in his grave if I didn't find a way to make some room for them to stay with us. Especially for this occasion."

There was a momentary silence on behalf of the Elrics, before Winry cleared her throat and pressed on. "Mr. Hughes is probably in too good of a mood to find a way to be mad about anything. This is the goal he and Miss Riza were helping Mr. Mustang try and reach, right?"

Gracia smiled, weakly. "Yes. This—"

"I do remember a certain Maes Hughes being in support of a certain Colonel and Lieutenant getting on with it. Was it him who suggested that Roy go out with Elizabeth?" Grumman asked nonchalantly.

Gracia swallowed, running a hand over her face. "Ah. I...and how did you know about that, Mr. Grumman?"

The old man grinned, lifting the suitcase he'd settled on the ground next to him. "I do have my ways."


	6. Chapter 6

Fuery had spent a large chunk of his career since things calmed down trying to lessen the bulk of the field radios they carried around. He had a very small frame of time to finish conducting his currents tests on the latest product in order for it to be used during the inauguration. Which was why he was currently holed up in an office empty aside from scattered communications equipment.

"Falman, do you copy?" squawked from Fuery into his ear. Falman sighed at the younger officer's impatience.

"Copy, but I'm not at the test point yet. Getting around is a bit difficult with the current traffic in the main building," he explained, before sighing. "I'll radio when I get there," he added.

"Yes, it is quite crowded, isn't it? One would hope Mustang's subordinates could keep it under control. Wouldn't you think, Major Falman?"

Falman froze in place. He would recognize that voice anywhere. He had to keep himself from stuttering as he snapped to salute and addressed her. "Yes, General Armstrong, Sir."

Olivier held back a chuckle as she returned the salute. "I see you're at least improving communications for the event. Don't let me interrupt your test. I just wanted to get in contact with some of the men here from Briggs," she informed him.

His eyes lit up. The sea was parting around the retired General, and they were going in the same direction. This might make things a lot easier. "I can show you where the office is they've been set up in for the time," he offered, pointing to the hallway he was attempting to get to.

He followed close behind as she led the way. It was amazing how people got out of her way even faster than they got out of Hawkeye's way when she walked the hallways, though he wondered if that had changed since they'd last met. He knew, for fact, that Hawkeye took no pleasure in the parting sea of people-not in the way the General did. The younger blonde had never liked any semblance of a spotlight, even when it afforded her significant perks.

"Fuery, do you copy?" Falman asked, wondering if the device would connect while he and Armstrong were en route clearly. The briefcase and headset were much easier to manage than usual telecommunications, and though it wasn't perfect it was improvement enough.

"Yes sir, loud and clear!" Fuery's voice replied. He was obviously excited, and his voice came through clearly in Falman's ear, very little distortion audible. The decrease in size was worth the decrease in quality, particularly since the decrease in quality was so minimal. "Did you get to the checkpoint? Colonel Hawkeye needs the distance to work from the highest indoor point as well as the outdoor points we've already tested before she'll give the okay to use it."

"Almost there," Falman replied. "I ran into General Armstrong. She is currently helping me part the crowd and get through the building."

"You must have that technophile of yours on the radio, if you're testing new equipment and Hawkeye is going to let you use it today," Olivier mused out loud as they neared the office in question. "Fuery, his name was?"

"Yes sir," Falman replied quickly, "Captain Fuery now. He's mostly got the kinks worked out, and the radio works very well, but Colonel Hawkeye just wanted to be sure. She's not used it herself, and—"

"She's got to trust her lame alchemist to it, of course. Old habits do die hard." Armstrong sighed, shaking her head. "Speaks quite a bit to her trust in you lot that she'd even consider it. I heard some MP complaining that she's been drilling them on the security plan for over a month now."

"You better tell her that this radio is working better than almost any communication device in telecomm history, Major!"

Falman had almost forgotten that the biggest change in the radio had been the constant transmission of data; instead of needing to turn on and off the radio transmission, one simply had to turn on the switch and talk-the frequency stayed open until it was turned off. "Ah—right. Sure thing, Fuery."

"If he's whining that his radio is the best one we've had, tell him that he should've been in Central a week ago to test it and he wouldn't have to do it in such a big crowd," Armstrong quipped. By then, they'd reached the office in question. Falman set the radio down and disconnected the headset, allowing the radio to do all of the transmitting. Instead of directly addressing the Captain, Armstrong continued to relay her message to Falman, as if she didn't realize there had been a change in the technology. Let it not be said she couldn't play along; if the slightest hint of a smirk crossed her lips, it was just coincidence. "And then ask him if he's betting on whether or not his two superiors are going to actually get engaged—along with nearly everyone else coming to the Inauguration that's known them for more than a year or so. The pot's grown quite big now, about two thousand cenz for the winner."

Olivier smirked at the redness that crept up Falman's neck and cheeks. "Don't look like that. I've heard that you participated as much as everyone else. What was your most recent bet...I think a certain chain-smoker told me it was when the Führer-elect made it to General. Am I correct?"

There was crackling, but along with the nervous buzzing, Falman couldn't hear it. "General…"

"Well, don't be a coward. Ask the Captain what his wager is going to be—"

"And what exactly are we betting on, General Armstrong?"

A distinctly feminine voice could be heard, and Falman jumped. When he'd last seen Fuery, the man had been alone in a very crowded office, deliberately attempting to scramble the radio signal in an attempt to prove its efficacy. The door to said office slammed shut. "C-Colonel Hawkeye—"

"We are wagering on whether or not we're going to convince you to stop running about like a chicken sans head, Colonel Hawkeye," Armstrong replied calmly, crossing her arms with a slow sigh. Falman glanced at the blonde, and then to the radio, brows furrowed. "I hear you are running security today."

"That is correct, ma'am. I have been General Mustang's adjutant and bodyguard for over a decade. One would expect that I would continue in such a position, especially on a day such as today." Olivier could see the sniper's face as she spoke: hair clipped back severely, in her dress uniform and a pair of heels, and still running around with a rifle over her shoulder—and wearing an expression that was at least ten kinds of furious that Olivier would question her intentions.

"I think there's somewhere else you should be, and it's not in the west tower with your rifle. Unless you think there's someone else you'd let stand up with him and take a bullet in his stead, should it become necessary. You trust someone else to do the right thing, react in time?"

The reaction was palpable, despite it being over the radio. It was quiet for a moment, before Fuery piped in quietly. "Um, Colonel? Lieutenant Colonel Havoc offered before if you wanted one of the team to take the west tower in your stead that he would be happy to. And even Miss Catalina mentioned that she'd do it too and even pretend to not hate his guts at dinner last night. I know you couldn't make it, because you were stuck here, but-"

"I need to update the security team. Captain Fuery, the radio is excellent. Please notify the appropriate parties that this is the device we will be using," Hawkeye's dismissal was brisk, and her heels clicked loudly in the office as she exited. At least she didn't slam the door this time—and Olivier had been right, she thought with a wry smile.

No female officer wore their dress uniform—skirt, heels and all—if they could help it. Certainly not field officers like herself and Hawkeye. Someone else must have been spending quite some time working on convincing the Colonel to find a different sniper to put in that tower, and Olivier had a feeling it was a certain dark-haired alchemist who was currently pinning medals to his dress jacket.


	7. Chapter 7

Mustang glanced up at the knock on his door, wincing when he stuck his finger with the pin of his medal at the unexpected noise. "Ow, _shit_ —Come in, Colonel Hawkeye."

She wasn't even in the room before she was admonishing him. "Sir, you shouldn't permit visitors without at least asking who is at the door." Hawkeye had lost her rifle at some point during the morning's activities and had gained the notebook in which she had the security plan. Her abhorred glasses were perched atop her head, and she was holding a cup of coffee. Unlike him, she had been here most of the night.

"I heard your shoes coming from down the hall, and you have knocked on the door the same way for the last decade and a half," he sighed, sucking on the tip of his stuck finger. "Ever predictable Hawkeye, right down to the hair. You could wear it down for once, for this special occasion," he goaded.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you predict that I would agree to putting Mr. and Mrs. Havoc in the West Tower as long as Fuery's new contraption was up to par? And it is. My hair will stay up, and I will be on stage with you," she said, hiding her anger with that all too predictable Riza Hawkeye calm. "Someone has to be working today."

"Determined to ruin my fun, I see," he sighed. Mustang wiped his finger clean, affixing his medal to his jacket and leaned forward, brows furrowed. Hawkeye's arms were crossed, waiting for him to continue.

"Yes, sir? Anything else you need?"

He got to his feet, carefully hanging his jacket over the back of his chair, and approached her, tilting his head, genuinely thoughtful. "I think…" Without hesitating, he reached for her jacket, fingers resting on the small row of medals above her heart. Hawkeye did not wear the decoration for completing her training, nor did she wear the decoration for surviving Ishval—most veterans did not. Today, however, there was an absence of a medal that bothered him. Greatly.

"You never wear your medal of honor, Hawkeye. I know you don't—"

"—it's a reminder of the Promised Day, and I would prefer not—"

"It's _protocol_ ," Mustang snapped, gaze darkening. "A lot of soldiers put a lot on the line that day, but above and beyond you put more. It's an honor for a reason, and you should wear it. Today, of all days at least." His fingers landed on the decoration for the life-threatening wound she'd received, and he swallowed. "You and Fullmetal were awarded the commendation. It's one of the highest honors you can be given, Riza."

Hawkeye took an uncomfortable step away from him, frowning, arms crossed tighter.

"It's in your jacket pocket," Mustang said quietly, closing the distance between them. Without hesitating, he loosened the top button of her jacket and ignored the flush that crept up her neck. Exactly as he anticipated, the medal was safely tucked in an inner pocket. He carefully pinned the medal in place before buttoning her jacket again, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

Mustang took the notebook from her hands and placed it on the table, then snatched the pair of glasses off the top of her head, setting them alongside the notebook. His fingers ghosted along the thin pink scar at her collarbone, and then settled for straightening the collar of her white button-down blouse, clearing his throat. "There," he murmured quietly, settling his palms on her shoulders. "Every bit the new second-in-command of this great country."

Before his heart could skip any additional beats, he stepped away from her and returned to the chair on which he'd discarded his own jacket. The wool of their dress blues was heavily starched and uncomfortable; he'd never liked the weight of the fabric as he shrugged it over his shoulders. His breath hitched when fingertips skirted lightly over the hem of the new long jacket, straightening and tucking, and her amber eyes caught his as she stepped around to meet his gaze.

"Führer Mustang, sir."

He rather liked the way the title sounded, coming from the lips of his closest subordinate. From his _Queen_ , from the one whom he could not lose. Hawkeye's fingers made swift work of the jacket buttons, before her gaze traveled back up to meet his. "Yes, General Hawkeye?"

If that was the game, the ruse, the charade they were going to play today then so be it. He could play along.

Hawkeye produced his pristine cap from the box in which it was stored, and studied his face intently. Rather like a bug under a microscope, he squirmed, uncomfortable, until she stood on tiptoe and smoothed a stray strand of hair out of his face, tucking it in line with the others. If she noticed the hints of gray that had crept into the obsidian, she said nothing; instead, she simply placed his hat atop his head.

If he didn't know better—and he was certain he did, because he _knew_ Riza Hawkeye—he would have thought her weak smile was more watery, a front to hide tears as much as anything else. The sniper coughed, turning away from him swiftly. "There you are, sir. I will be back to meet you after a final perimeter check."


	8. Chapter 8

The ceremony itself was dull, as most formal military occasions were. As a General, retired or not, Olivier was seated behind the Führer-elect and his adjutant, and she busied herself with monitoring the area. Not that she really needed to with Riza there. She wasn't quite sure if she had ever at any point seen the Colonel on such a high level of alertness. Luckily, they were nearing the end of the speeches and Grumman was at the podium, getting the masses ready to welcome their next leader to his position.

"There is only one minor detail to take care of before Führer Elect Mustang officially takes my place."

Just as practiced, Roy walked to the podium. Olivier almost wished she could be in the crowd so that she could properly see if the nervousness she could detect in his overly rigid posture was showing on his face. Maybe it would come through in some of the pictures being snapped.

Grumman pulled a large book out of the cubby in the podium and walked around to the front of the stage so the crowd could see as Roy placed his left hand on the most up to date Amestrian Constitution and held up his right hand.

"Roy Mustang, do you swear to dedicate your efforts to the well-being of the Amestrian people, promote their welfare, protect them from harm, uphold and defend our laws, perform your duties conscientiously, and do justice to all?" Grumman asked.

"I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute my duties of Führer of the Amestrian people," he replied.

The roar of the audience was so loud that Olivier was sure it could be heard even from the farthest suburbs of Central. She narrowed her eyes at the confetti that rained down across the parade grounds, daring it to land in her hair. She was thankful her hair held no clip like a certain Colonel's, as her hair now had a large collection of colorful strips of paper stuck in it. A faint chant rose through the audience. Grumman ushered Roy to the podium and passed the book along to his aide as he sat down.

To the ongoing cheers, Olivier watches Riza step forward, hands folded behind her. From behind, only those who know the sniper well can see her tightly-gripped knuckles as she steps to the podium. Still, she takes a moment to remind herself that this is what they have been working toward, and while his asking her to make the announcement was an honor he recognized it as asking quite a bit for his second-in-command who preferred to watch from the shadows. Mustang nodded slightly, the smallest inclination of his chin towards her, and she pressed both palms against the podium before taking a deep breath and speaking.

"It is my great honor to announce to the public, for the first time, Führer Roy Mustang!"

As nervous as she had been, and still was, saying those words overwhelmed her with pride, and she couldn't force back the smile that spread across her face as the cheers escalated. She was about to turn to head back to her seat, but Roy planted his hand on her back to stop her in her tracks. Riza turned her head slightly, now pinned between the podium and the Führer of Amestris, voice low. "What are you doing, sir?"

From far too close to her ear to be even remotely appropriate, he replied: "Something very important."

Kain Fuery dropped the microphone he was holding, the clattering ringing loudly through the ears of everyone on the frequency. From the tower in which the Havocs were stationed, Jean hissed: "I know what you were betting, Fuery-you don't have to _deafen_ us when you get proved right! Damn!"

"Riza is going to _kill him_ ," Winry whispered, tilting her head towards Mei, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers as she absently rocked Nina in her lap.

"I can't believe he's got the balls to risk Hawkeye telling him no in front of the whole damn country."

" _Ed_!" Al stomped on his older brother's foot, hoping nobody in the immediate vicinity heard the commotion as Ed let out a string of colorful curse words.

Roy kept his hand in place so that she couldn't escape, and looked back to the crowd. "As Führer, my first order of business is to promote Colonel Riza Hawkeye to General so she may remain my immediate second-in-command," he announced. "The first order of business for each newly sworn-in Führer is to appoint their successor should harm befall them—"

Beneath his hand, he could feel Riza tense. He probably should have told her that he intended to make this announcement at the ceremony, instead of behind closed doors. But he had wanted to avoid the argument, and she couldn't yell at him on stage. Or, had she been where she had initially intended, from the western sniper tower. Sensing the pending implosion—and how bad the argument would be later—he took a half a step back, allowing Riza the space to leave. "Thank you and congratulations, General Hawkeye."

She spun on her heel, turning to return to her seat. The glare he received in return could kill. Even Olivier could feel it from her seat half a stage away. Olivier couldn't help but chuckle at the slight hint of anxiety she could see on Roy's face as he watched Riza walk away. She had been expecting that appointment to happen, just not so quickly. Or so publicly. Now, he just needed to get up the courage to ask her a very specific question, and they would have the winner of their bet.

The crowd was still applauding and cheering when everyone seated on the stage stood, and followed Grumman's cue to exit. Roy and Riza were flanked on either side by the team she had selected to protect the Führer, but Olivier, and anyone else watching, could see Riza had placed herself as far away from her superior as she could in that little bubble.

Maybe he wouldn't be asking any important questions tonight.


	9. Chapter 9

Jean flopped at the table, nursing his drink, his cigarette dashed on an ashtray. "He's never asking. It's never happening."

Rebecca rolled her eyes, watching Riza make nice with all the foreign ambassadors as they clamored for a chance to be introduced to the new leader of Amestris. The younger sharpshooter chuckled as Riza shifted her weight in the formal dress she wore for the occasion, fiddling with the button that clasped the high collar at her neck. "You never know Jean. Maybe it isn't meant to be. She's happy working, you know."

"You don't know that," Jean grumbled. "She's going to work herself to death."

"I know that, just as well as she knows I married you for your money," Rebecca chimed, waggling her eyebrows at him.

"You wound me," Jean whined, swallowing a gulp of his drink before pressing a kiss to Rebecca's nose.

"Ewww!" A little plate appeared on the table, accompanied by two very small hands. A moment later, wide blue eyes were peering up at Jean as Nina Elric tried to climb into a chair beside them. "Kissing is gross," the four-year-old exclaimed.

Normally, Winry would have assisted Nina in this feat and hushed her comments, but she was too busy staring at the dance floor. She had known Elysia requested that Roy dance with her, she just hadn't realized their pair would lead the first dance of the night. Surreptitiously, Winry gently grabbed Gracia's hand. "She's really grown up."

"I know," the older woman replied, voice thick with tears. "Roy takes good care of her. He took her shopping a few weeks ago. Clothes for tonight and everything. And jewelry." Gracia tightened her fingers around Winry's, wiping her eyes. "It's funny—normally, Elysia tells me everything. But she wouldn't tell me anything about that piece of jewelry Roy got her."

Rebecca coughed loudly, knocking over Jean's drink as she reached for hers. "Sorry," she apologized, quickly throwing a napkin over the liquid before it could run off the table. "I'll get you another."

Jean was about to protest, but she was already weaving through the crowd. Rebecca found that Riza was too busy fielding diplomats to attend to her concerns; Roy had finished his dance with his young dance partner and was now chatting to some General stationed in Southern Headquarters and remained otherwise indisposed. Luckily, Alphonse was walking over towards the table with a drink; Rebecca caught his arm.

"Al," she hissed, frowning. "Elysia told her mom that jewelry was hers. Winry is going to want to see it."

The blonde smiled nonchalantly, handing Rebecca his drink before undoing his cufflinks. He'd never liked wearing them anyway—and Uncle Roy, he imagined, would owe his darling Elysia a real piece of jewelry for the fiasco he'd unknowingly caused anyway. "Don't worry. I think I can manage."

"What?" Rebecca, generally unfamiliar with the practice of alchemy and only knowing the mischievous Elric brothers in passing didn't initially pick up on the young man's suggestion. A few moments and a flash of blue light later, and the two cufflinks had become one slender bracelet, silver-toned metal braided in two strands.

"Convincing?"

Slack-jawed, Rebecca nodded. "Yeah, I think so." After she gathered her wits, she gave Al a sly look. "You think you can teach my husband that trick?"

Ever the peacemaker, the younger Elric cleared his throat. "Probably not…"

The two were distracted by a commotion taking place at a table just within earshot. A very flushed nurse with whom Rebecca had had quite a shouting match a few years back was gesticulating wildly at the dance floor. Straining her ears, she could make out the conversation clearly.

"Lookit' that, Shirley, look, I told you—"

"Ellen, you have had far too much to drink," Olivier sighed, shaking her head. She had mistakenly imagined that Shirley's protege would hold her liquor better, and the nurse's behavior was distracting her from a certain sniper's reaction to the gloved hand being extended to her.

Olivier didn't consider herself a romantic, but even she had to admit that the scene looked as though it belonged in some sort of storybook.

Two hands hit the table, one wearing a silver wedding band, and the retired general glanced up to meet the gaze of the ex-Fullmetal Alchemist, who was watching Roy Mustang mumble something into his subordinate's ear, jaw hanging open. "He's flirting with her. He's flirting with her, isn't he? Why hasn't she shot him yet?!"

Chuckling, Mei patted the older brother on the shoulder. "You're shouting, Ed."

"And if you keep shouting, we're going to miss it," Shirley quipped sharply.

Jean's attention was drawn by the scene Ed was causing as he passed by, wondering what was taking Rebecca so long to return. He paused a moment, glancing over to the pair he'd worked so closely with over the years. "Trust me, he wouldn't be wearing a smug look like that if he was proposing. He's too worried she'd say no. You owe me drinks for the night if they're about to dance, she never turns down a dance."

"From _him_. Never turns down a dance from _him_ ," Breda corrected, balancing a precariously full plate in one hand. "Easier to watch his back that way, or some nonsense. Not sure who she thinks she's fooling, but it sure isn't me."

"I'm pretty sure that they haven't been fooling anyone since she was reappointed as Bradley's aide," Olivier grumbled. None of her men would have ever been singled out the way Hawkeye had all those years ago, been taken as a hostage and kept just out of reach. Maybe it was because it was well-known that Mustang relied on her, but many knew it was far more than that.

Shirley folded her hands on the table, swallowing, her comment on Hawkeye's near-fatal injury kept to herself only through great self-discipline. That, when she learned the circumstances, had been the moment she had known. Thankfully, she wasn't given time to dwell on it as the new General was guided to the dance floor under the gentle hands of the Führer. Clearing her throat: "I hope you've brought some money, Edward, and know a babysitter—you're going to owe Havoc some drinks tonight."

"Not if he asks while they're dancing."

"Statistically unlikely. Though he acts very much like a womanizer, Führer Mustang is quite traditional. One can't get on one knee to propose in the middle of a waltz," Falman replied dully.

"Aside from that, she'd probably shoot him if the proposal was too public. She's never been one to enjoy the spotlight. For all we know, they could already be married," Shirley reasoned.

Falman shook his head. "That would be exceptionally illegal under the code of conduct. The fraternization laws, until recently, expressly prohibited any sort of relationship with a superior officer. It was only within the last six months that they were changed to include a clause for consensual and disclosed relationships."

"Unless you think General Hawkeye would be all right with breaking such a rule. I don't think she ever would," Fuery suggested quietly.

"Six months is a long time. They could be engaged, and waiting to break the news until the bumps that come along with a transition in government are smoothed out." Olivier crossed her arms, thoughtful. "It would be a well-thought-out plan, for once."

Havoc waved a hand dismissively. "Nah." Rebecca appeared with the drink she had promised, and he took a sip, shrugging as he watched the two officers on the dance floor. They moved like one person, almost in perfect sync. And, as he did whenever he could, the alchemist finished the waltz with a well-balanced and precariously low dip, a smug smile on his face at the flush on his partner's. "Hawkeye might hate the attention, but _damn_ if Mustang doesn't thrive on it."


	10. Chapter 10

It was unusual for the street to be shut down outside of Madame's, and even more unusual for said bar to be closed to the public. Even still, an hour before the formal affair ended, Hawkeye had arrived to do her planned perimeter check and post security, a cup of coffee firmly in hand. Dressed in civilian attire by then, she waited outside of the bar, the notebook with the day's security plan tucked under her arm. She checked her watch for what was easily the tenth time.

"There's this old saying that a watched pot never boils, Elizabeth."

Smoke wafted from the front door before the woman, and Riza turned. "Thankfully I am not watching a pot, nor is my name actually Elizabeth."

Madame Christmas herself, the proprietor of the establishment, chuckled, her laugh deep and hearty. "You don't ever let me forget why my Roy-boy likes you so much."

Thankful for the cover of darkness that hid the flush crawling up her neck, Riza huffed. "Duly noted, Madame."

"You know you don't have to call me Mada—"

The car door slammed, Roy stretching tiredly, followed by Jean, Kain, Heymans and Vato. "What are you carrying that notebook for? You have to have it memorized now."

"Backwards and forwards," Jean added.

"Someone has to work today," Olivier retaliated, emerging from the car she'd taken from headquarters, brows narrowed. "Seeing as it's your first day on the job, it probably should be your bodyguard."

"I may have spent the last few months grooming your security detail, but I feel more comfortable on duty with them today of all days. You do want me to feel like I can rely on them, don't you?" Riza added.

" _Our_ security detail. They are around to make sure you are protected, too, you know," Roy corrected her.

Riza's gaze darkened. "I do not need a security detail. I have been the security detail for the last decade. Sir."

"Okay—fine. If you insist on being the security detail, then you can keep going over their reports." Roy crossed his arms, obsidian eyes meeting Riza's. "On one condition: you have to wear your glasses."

Rebecca allowed herself an exasperated sigh, clutching her head in mock frustration. "You two really do bicker like an old married couple."

"Going to have to side with Catalina on this one, sirs," Heymans stated matter-of-factly.

"Not only d'you bicker like an ol' married couple," Ellen slurred (the water that Shirley had been all but forcing her to consume had evidently not yet taken effect), "but you've been bickerin' like that since I met you."

"Shouldn't she be sleeping this off somewhere?" Olivier growled, the volume of Ellen's voice was starting to make her want to punch the woman.

"Yes, yes—she's going to be sleeping this off here. Ellen and Shirley are staying in one of our rooms upstairs," Madame interjected, quickly stepping between the retired general and the intoxicated nurse, starting to usher the woman inside. "Come on. In we go. Let's not stand outside. Didn't you say something about open lines of fire when you set our perimeter?"

Inside was warm, clean, and cozily set for the smaller gathering. Unlike the formal event, here they could sit and talk. While Shirley and the Madame brought Ellen up to her room, the Elrics, the Hughes' and Grumman arrived from Headquarters, happy to be away from the press and the commotion.

"He at least has better taste in jewelry than Ed," Winry said as she inspected the bracelet Elysia was showing her as they walked into the bar. "Al always used to be the one to help him pick out jewelry for me."

"At least what I pick out has character," Ed mumbled under his breath. He was so used to hearing about his so called bad taste that he couldn't even be bothered to care anymore.

Elysia giggled. "Uncle Roy wasn't sure what to get at all. I really helped him pick. Most of the time he picks by himself. Right, Uncle Roy?"

Startled from hanging his coat, Roy turned, looking at the bracelet Elysia was gesturing at. "Hm?"

"The bracelet. You know—the one you got me to keep at my house safe for you. And then wear to the inauguration. I was telling Winry that I helped pick it, but that you usually do it by yourself." Elysia's gaze locked on his. "Remember when we went shopping? I told mom about that jewelry you got for me."

"Oh," there was a pause, and Roy nodded, his processing time lengthened by a yawn. " _Oh_ —I remember what you're talking about! Yeah, yeah, _that_ bracelet. I'm glad you like it."

Riza sighed to cover her own surprise, then ducked behind the bar. "Coffee, anyone?" she asked as she pulled mugs from below the counter.

"Oi! It's Roy-boy's inauguration and you are a guest, missy. Get out from behind that counter. Shoo!" Madame Christmas vigorously shooed the sniper out from behind the bar, arranging more mugs before placing the carafe on the counter. "Now—who wants coffee?"

A chorus of requests rang out, most people in agreement that they could stand a bit more caffeine. For her part, the Madame acquiesced to allowing Riza to pass out the filled mugs, watching the excited group take time to simply enjoy some quiet discussion.

"People traveled from all over the country. Even from as far as Briggs," Kain commented.

"I know. There were some familiar faces from the Ishval reconstruction project, too," Vato murmured, sipping the provided coffee.

Gracia nodded, her hands wrapped around her mug. "This is a huge occasion. Führer Grumman was appointed, but Führer Mustang wasn't. This was our first real election. People are excited."

"We have contacts who might've tried the trip from outside of Amestris if travel wasn't so treacherous," Ed mused.

"Hey, Madame? Got anything stronger than coffee?" Grumman rested his forearms on the bar, brow raised in curiosity.

"Sorry honey. Bar's closed today. Coffee's your choice, or water if you want."

Stifling a yawn, Riza rubbed her eyes. "Madame, you don't by chance have any tea? I've had more than enough coffee in the last two days."

"Anything for family, love. Let me see what I can find."

The idle chatter in the room died _instantly_.

There would have been complete silence if Jean hadn't started choking on the toothpick he had hanging from his lip in place of his usual cigarette. Rebecca had made sure he knew he wasn't allowed to bring cigarettes to the formal event, and he hadn't thought to go upstairs to grab one before they had started chatting.

"Because...I consider all of the people who have helped Roy-boy achieve this accomplishment family?" Madame attempted to recover from the slip, but from the sound of Ed's laughter, she wasn't very successful. If he wasn't buying it, nobody was.

"It's not funny," Winry hissed as she elbowed him. Though she couldn't be mad for long, she was too excited to hear from Roy and Riza. "And if you don't shut up so I can hear the official announcement I swear…"

Rebecca stared at her dear friend. As one of very few people privy to the knowledge already, she wasn't surprised—but she was a bit concerned. She'd never seen Riza so pale before, not even when she'd nearly passed out from blood loss on the Promised Day. And Roy? He suddenly looked like he'd spent a full day under the Ishvalan sun without a bit of protection and gone on to develop the sunburn of a lifetime.

The pair took a deep breath, exchanging a quick glance between them. "We weren't going to announce this until after things had settled down a bit," Roy paused a moment, watching as Riza's shaking hands slid beneath her high collar and unclasped the delicate chain hidden there. A simple ring dangled as the pendant, carefully cradled in her palm. "While waiting for the election results to come in, I asked Riza to marry me."

"I think it hardly comes as a surprise to any of you here that I accepted his proposal." Roy slid the ring off of the chain and spun it between his fingers, his smile small and meant primarily for her. He snaked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. Surely, if everyone knew, there was no need for pretenses now.

The quiet was suddenly broken by Kain's shout of joy, which suddenly made him the center of attention. "Sorry, I'm just so happy for you two. So, are you two just engaged, or did you have a secret marriage ceremony?" he asked.

Riza looked Kain over a moment. "No more caffeine for you tonight. As for your question, we are just engaged. The relationship was disclosed to the Führer, and it was agreed upon that we wouldn't disclose it to the public until after the inauguration."

"Until well after the inauguration," Alphonse Elric had been sitting quietly, sipping his coffee thoughtfully, until that moment. "I thought that was the plan."

"Yeah! I don't ever get to keep secrets, Uncle Roy," Elysia whined, pouting. The spark in her eye suggested she was happy to have been part of the plan all along.

Stirring her drink absently, Rebecca cleared her throat. "I have to agree, Ri. If the Madame hadn't slipped up, when did you lot plan on telling anyone?"

"Wait. You _knew_ that jackass put a ring on it and you didn't tell me, Al? We've been talking about it for years!" Ed turned to his brother, incredulous. "I can't believe you!"

"You're probably the worst secret-keeper I've ever met, Rebecca. How is it you managed not to blab?" Jean blinked at his wife, genuine confusion on his features. "And how come you didn't tell me, Chief?! You were my best man!"

"All right, all right, now you lot calm down—arranging a proposal isn't nearly as easy as it seems," Roy declared loudly over the conspiratorial chatter around him. "Alphonse might have great taste in jewelry, but that's not what I needed his help with. I wanted—"

"A stone from Xing," the younger Elric stated matter-of-factly. "We travel more than Ed, so it was easy."

"And—"

"Ring size. Which, you know, an idiot like you should be able to figure out, since you see her every damn day, but I'll cut you some slack. A best friend knows these sorts of things, anyway. It's kind of in the best friend job description," Rebecca added.

Roy sighed. "Right. Along with some unsolicited advice on how to set the ring so the stone wouldn't interfere with her work. And I needed—"

"Somewhere safe to keep it where she wouldn't find it!" Elysia piped. "Auntie Riza checks your house too much as part of the security protocols or something, so you couldn't hide it there, right?"

"I knew you couldn't do anything by yourself," Olivier declared. "Hardly surprising that you'd need so much help."

Shirley elbowed the retired general. "What does it matter whether or not he got help from others? He at least got up the courage to ask her."

"I'm standing right here!"

"I was scared out of my mind when I asked Rebecca. She's like a less volatile Hawkeye. Can't blame him for taking so long to get the balls to ask—ow!" Jean winced as a strategically placed heel dug into his foot, hard. " _Shit_ , Rebecca!"

"I bet he didn't say anything about equivalent exchange," Winry mused cheerfully, chin in her open palm, a mischievous grin on her face.

Ed groaned, head flopping on the table, "oh come on, that isn't even fair—"

"We are still here, thank you—" Roy started again.

Riza sighed, allowing Roy to slip the ring on her finger—one of his favorite activities when the two were alone, as she often kept the piece of jewelry hidden. Obviously, the crowd wasn't going to stop talking until they got the details of the proposal. She was actually surprised Rebecca hadn't tried to squeeze the story out of her, but she figured the less her friend knew, the less likely she was to accidentally slip up.

"He was lucky though, he had an excuse to seem nervous," Grumman added.

"Okay—enough," the sniper snapped, amber eyes just slightly narrowed. Roy's fingers laced with hers, and he chuckled.

"All right. You want to know something?" Conspiratorially, he leaned towards Vato Falman, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I decided before the election. Didn't care if I won or lost. We were waiting for the final tally, but some preliminary results were in and in my favor. Not that it mattered. The ring was in my desk and I was going to ask if it killed me. Just had to wait until that old coot left the room."

Grumman chuckled. "Election day isn't a holiday. I had some work to attend to, even though I would've rather waited with them."

"He was acting strangely paranoid. Not nervous," Riza tilted her head, frowning. "Paranoid. And—"

"I know you're very security conscious, Hawkeye, but even you have to admit that thinking something was wrong when I got on one knee was a little much," Roy replied. In response, his adjutant firmly shook her head. "For a minute there, I think she thought I saw a threat she missed. Couldn't even get her to look at me."

"Aw, Ri, come on. That's the best part," Rebecca whined. "I should've taught you better."

Gingerly, Roy placed his hands on Riza's shoulders, shifting so their eyes met, "so I brought her down with me. It's usually easier to keep her listening when she's at eye-level." Their faces were close enough that they were nearly touching, and a warm smile spreads across his lips as he pressed his forehead against hers. "I could've lost by a landslide—it didn't matter when she said yes."

Closing her eyes, Riza beamed, reaching to take his hands and lace her fingers with his. While it was no surprise to the others in the room that the two were close, such visible acts of intimacy were so unusual that there was a disconnect between what was being seen and what was known. "I don't make a habit of saying no to you."

The alchemist pressed a kiss to his fiancé's lips, surprisingly chaste, and laughed when her cheeks flushed bright red in response, using their entangled hands to pull her closer to him.

"And isn't it lovely that we've gotten their first kiss on film?"

For the second time that evening, the sudden silence in the room was nearly deafening. Now both faces were flushed red hot as they turned to the retired Führer, both wearing an expression akin to mortification.

"Yeah, because we all believe that was their first kiss," Breda commented flatly, giving voice to what most present were thinking.

The Madame glared at Breda, "Don't you dare suggest that my Roy-boy is anything but a perfect gentleman."

"You two relax. Does it even matter?" Grumman's diplomatic skill eased even minor skirmishes, and he pressed on, reaching into his jacket pocket. "I even developed it in my personal dark room. I couldn't let the secret out quite yet. Don't worry though, only someone inside the Führer's office has that particular view into the conference room. It's quite advantageous."

Mustang grimaced at the fact that he didn't know about that particular viewpoint, and now everyone in the room knew about it. It made him grateful that his better half had prevailed over his excitement; the heat he could feet radiating from Hawkeye's face only solidified the thought. "That particular view doesn't seem very ethical, and will be getting patched up."

"What are you planning on doing in there, anyway, boss? I doubt Hawkeye is gonna let you—" Jean winced at the elbow in his ribcage courtesy of his wife, quickly turning to face her. "I was going to say _slack off_ , damn Rebecca!"

"All right, all right," Shirley slapped her hands on the table before folding them, beaming. "Enough bickering about who has what photograph. We have more important matters to discuss, don't we General Armstrong?"

Olivier almost choked on her tea. While she was more than willing to poke harmless fun, even she wasn't planning on revealing their wager here of all places. It just didn't seem right to reveal that everyone was betting on their love lives in front of them. Then again, part of her wasn't sure they could pull this off without either one of them finding out anyway.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Riza sighed. The flush on her cheeks hadn't lessened, indicating exactly what Olivier was already suspecting-the charade of a secretive wager for years on end could only last so long. "Go on then."

The alchemist smirked, tilting his head. "Yes. Go on and tell us who has won that bet of yours. What is the pot up to now? I'm curious. I have a feeling we can add more than just the 520 cenz Ed owes me to our savings account after tonight."

Slack-jawed, the ex-Fullmetal Alchemist blinked at the two highest-ranked officers in the Amestrian military. "Wh...how—"

"We were always so careful," Jean added quietly.

From the other side of the table, Vato nodded in agreement. "Most wagers were discussed off-the-clock, in fact."

"Not always," Heymans mumbled, running his hands over his face.

"I haven't written my will yet." Kain's voice was mostly unintelligible, with his head against the table.

With the slightest hint of a laugh, Riza shook her head. "You can't honestly believe that I never once overheard you. There is not one thing in that office that happened that I didn't know about. Don't ever forget that."

"Yes ma'am," four voices chimed in unison.

Laughing, Roy ruffled his fiancée's hair. "I wasn't kidding, though. Who won? I'm curious. You lot have been at it for years."

Shirley pulled a notebook out of her bag. "Well, since you already know about it, just give us a few moments to go through my little black book."

The room was silent as Shirley and Olivier leafed through the notebook. "We have one winner," Shirley announced as she closed the book. "Gracia Hughes, and she argued that this bet was ridiculous."

Gracia smiled, sheepish. "Maes always thought Roy would propose when he made it to Führer." The quiet widow scratched her head, "but...he did always forget you get a little impatient. I figured you wouldn't make it to the results."

Riza gave Roy's hand a squeeze as Gracia looked between them. "I didn't think anyone was going to get close, but I should have counted on Maes knowing."

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for coming along on this wild ride with us. We hope you've enjoyed this monster piece. It comes out to something like 28 pages! Fire and I both knew, all the way back at Spinning Out, that we wanted to write a fic that encompassed Mustang's inauguration-and as mentioned in the initial author's note, this piece was almost two years in the making. Thank you for coming along with us!

There may be more coming along in the future...

PS: I, Bizzy, take full responsibility for double-posting chapter seven and missing posting chapter 8. I fixed it!


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